Won't Be Denied
by JassyBaby
Summary: Sequel and companion story to 'Won't Be Pushed Aside.' Rated M for language, adult themes, and sexual content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: B***h, I'm back, by popular demand! :P This is the first chapter of the sequel to _Won't Be Pushed Aside._ I originally had plans to keep everything as one huge story, but I realized splitting it into parts that focused on different aspects, plots, conflict, and progress in Dean's day-to-day life was more logical. However, they are all really still a part of the same story. So please continue to bear with me. And enjoy, lovelies~ **

**Chapter 1**

Dean dragged himself into the Donald L. Tucker Civic Center on lead feet. His stomach churned with nausea. The sick feeling hadn't left since he'd arrived in Cincinnati and saw the state his mom was in. She'd gotten herself beat up pretty badly and robbed in her own home, most likely by guys she sat around getting high with. Police didn't have any leads, but they weren't making any more than minimal effort. His mother was a crackhead. The absolute dregs of society. Whatever happened to her, she brought on herself in their eyes.

Laura had been a crying mess seeing their mom black and blue and unconscious. She'd also tried to guilt Dean into sticking around, like she always did. And she'd convinced Dean to take care of their mom's medical bills. Of course Dean would, if it would keep them both off his back.

He was pretty pissed off when he got to the locker room. He wasn't scheduled to wrestle for a few days, even though he'd argued with the higher-ups that he was more than ready to fight. But they wanted him to "cool off", "take some time to himself", and "get his mind in a good place." Yeah, right.

Dean found Roman and Seth chatting and laughing about something while Roman geared up for his match tonight. He approached them. "What's up, guys?"

Their smiles disappeared when they noticed him. They looked somber and awkward.

Dean rolled his eyes. "She's beaten up, but she ain't dead. So would you idiots stop looking like I just came from her funeral?"

The tension between them relaxed a degree. Seth shook his head. "You're subhuman, you know that?"

Dean shrugged and tossed aside his overnight bag. What would Seth have him do? Mope and cry and get all depressed because of the state his mom was in? If he did that every single time she ended up like this, he'd have cried enough to fill up the entire damned city. Besides, it _had_ pained him to see his mom lying on the hospital bed and bruised all over. Despite everything she'd done to him growing up, Dean hated to see her hurt. A part of him thirsted to find the bastards who'd put their grimy hands on her and rip their arms clean out of their sockets.

"You okay, Dean? You look tired," Roman said, his expression filled with concern for his best friend.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. He imagined he did look tired, among other things, his eyes shot from lack of sleep in the last forty-eight hours. He hadn't shaved his face in that time, either, so he was sure he looked like some unkempt redneck. "I am tired," he admitted. "So fucking tired."

"Why don't you come home with me, then?" Roman offered. "Pensacola's only two and a half hours from here. I guarantee you'll sleep better at my place than at a hotel."

Dean thought about it. Ever since Roman's little revelation the other day, Dean had planned on keeping some distance between them. At least until he sorted shit out in his own head.

But, he liked Pensacola. It was sunny, tropical, and mostly warm all year round. It'd be like a refreshing mini-vacation.

"I'll make sapa sui for you," Roman added.

"Sold."

They grinned.

Roman patted him on the back. "Don't worry, Dean. I'll take care of you. What about you, Seth? We could make it a boys' night."

"Nah. Not today." Seth gave them a sly grin. "I finally worked up the nerve to talk to Sasha the other day. She agreed to dinner and a movie after work. So... your boy will be busy tonight."

Roman whistled low. "Damn, Seth. Just make sure you wear a raincoat, buddy."

Seth blushed. "We're _not_ doing that. Jesus."

"Yeah, but don't act like you haven't thought about it."

Seth huffed. "Not really, no. I respect the hell outta her."

Dean took a seat and zoned out while his brothers droned on about whatever. Every cell in his body begged for sleep, but he didn't think he'd be able to. Not with the images occupying his brain. Not only of just his mother's unfortunate injuries, but Dean's own past, growing up damned near poor in Cincinnati. Father in jail; mother a drug-addicted prostitute; the things he'd been forced to do...

"Dean?"

Dean glanced up into Roman's sympathetic eyes.

"You all right?" Roman asked.

"I'm good."

"You gonna come with me after my match's over?"

Dean nodded. He knew he shouldn't, but the offer was too tempting. Time alone with Roman, in beautiful Pensacola, gorging on his favorite meal? Hell yes.

"Oh, hey, Randy. How's it going?"

Dean peered up to see Randy Orton standing in the locker room's doorway. Dean hadn't even noticed him come in.

Randy's smile was cool and unworried as he glanced between the two of them. His penetrating blue gaze finally landed on Roman. "I'm always good, Roman. What about you? Warming up for your match tonight?"

"That's the plan."

Randy patted his thick, tattooed shoulder. "Good luck out there."

Roman's smile widened. "Thanks, Orton. Appreciate it." He looked at Dean. "I'll see you in a little bit."

"Yep," Dean answered.

Roman left the locker room, shutting the two of them in together.

Dean sighed softly, watching Randy watch him with that unreadable face of his. "What?"

Randy shrugged. "How was your trip?"

Dean didn't bother to answer that. Every moment of it had been shitty.

Randy smirked. "That bad huh?"

"What do you want, Orton?" His tone was more weary and tiredness than the combativeness he usually directed at Randy. What could he say? The guy was actually starting to grow on him.

Randy folded those muscled, tatted arms across his t-shirt clad chest. "I didn't know you were back."

"Yeah, I just touched down about an hour ago."

"And you're going to Pensacola?"

"Yep."

"With Roman?"

Dean's gaze narrowed on the older male. "Yeah. Is there a problem? I'm not allowed to hang with my best friend?"

"No problem, Dean. I was just under the assumption that you and I had plans when you got back."

Dean frowned. "Plans? You and me? I don't remember—" Memories flashed through his mind. The other day at the airport en route to Cincinnati, he _had_ made some kind of deal with Randy. In exchange for information about his true feelings for Roman, he would allow Randy to take him to dinner. Like a date. "Crap."

Randy's upper lip curled as he watched the realization play out on Dean's face. "It's cool, Dean. I get it. Hell, I should have known better than to try to compete with Reigns anyway."

Dean's entire body stiffened, his gaze fixed on the man in front of him. It was obvious now that Randy was upset. His relaxed body had tensed around the edges, like he was struggling to keep his composure and failing. "What's that supposed to mean?" Dean all but growled.

But Randy had already exited the locker room. Dean raked a hand through his hair, but his ass was glued to the spot. He wanted to go after Randy and demand answers, but for some reason he couldn't make himself move.

* * *

The drive from Tallahassee to Pensacola was only a bit over two hours thanks to Roman's smooth and steady driving on the highway.

Roman had urged him to get some sleep. That he would wake him once they were at his place. But Dean hadn't been able to. Not with all the guilt plaguing him.

Dean ignored the golf course, the car dealerships, the flea market, and the tree tunnel that was probably scenic in the daytime, but looked creepy at night. A Day to Remember played in the car, but Dean couldn't figure out which song.

How could he have forgotten about Randy and all that he'd said? Especially since—difficult and weird as it was—Randy had been pretty nice to him. The guy seemed to really be interested in Dean. Operative word: seemed.

One moment of weakness, and here he was back at square one again.

Roman slowed the car down when he drove into a residential area. Besides the Pensacola Greyhound Racing & Poker, there weren't a lot of commercial properties or businesses around.

Dean liked the homes out here. They were big and well designed, with a lot of them overlooking the ocean. Roman's home was like that. Spacious and Mediterranean, with a hint of a tropical feel to it. It also had an amazing view of the ocean, and its own dock built right in. But of course, it was almost a requirement to have a home this size with the large family he had. Samoans were a family-oriented, tight-knit group, so they were constantly visiting Ro at his place whenever he had down time.

Dean couldn't really say the same. Besides Roman and Seth, no one ever really visited him. Kev and Solomon did occasionally, but they were more drinking buddies than anything else.

Roman's sudden hand on his shoulder tore him from his thoughts. "Dean, you awake? We're here."

Dean stretched as if he'd really been sleeping. His body ached and popped in protest. "What time is it?"

"It's half past twelve."

They got out and grabbed their bags from the trunk. Roman let them inside and turned on the lights. Dean couldn't help gazing around at all the beige, marble, and glass illuminated by the soft yellow glow. Even though he'd been here a thousand times. "Thanks man. I'm gonna put these up in the spare room."

Roman nodded. "Not a problem. By the way, do you want sapa sui now, or are you too tired?"

He was definitely tired, but he'd rather eat first. "Chop suey. And a cold beer if you have any."

"You know I've always got that. You go ahead and make yourself at home. I got dinner."

Dean forced a smile. "Don't you mean that meal that's after dinner but before breakfast? What's it called?"

"FourthMeal. At least, that's what Taco Bell says."

"And everyone knows Taco Bell is always right."

Roman laughed, but didn't say anything. He went to wash his hands and prepare their meal.

Dean put his stuff away, actually taking the time to be neat about it since Roman would complain if he didn't. Once he finished, he grabbed a cold Miller Lite from the fridge. "I'll be outside," he called to Roman in the living room. He was catching up on sports highlights on ESPN while the water was boiling.

Randy had been doing the same thing when Dean had visited him in his hotel that first time. Just without the boiling water.

Dean stepped out into the huge backyard terrace, with its usually lit swimming pool and hot tub. The ocean breeze was cool enough that he still wore his jacket. The desert was like that, too. Even in the winter, it was hot as hell's balls as long as the sun blazed over the horizon. But as soon as it set, it got real cold, real fast.

He popped open his beer and drank. The moon shone brilliantly over the swaying waters, but Dean couldn't focus on it, even though that was why he'd come out here. His mind filled with his last hotel visit to Orton. How desperate he'd been.

Fuck, it had felt so damn good to touch Randy like that. To be touched and kissed by him. Nothing had actually happened because Dean hadn't been in the right head space. But it was enough that it left him wanting more.

He sucked in a big gulp of beer and adjusted the front of his pants due to his swelling cock. Dean didn't want to lie to himself. He felt bad about ditching the guy, even if it had been unintentional.

The glass door slid open and Roman stepped outside. "Bean threads are cooking," he announced. "I'll sautee the onions in a little bit." He popped open his own can of beer.

Dean faced him. "No mixed veggies?"

Roman chuckled. "I got fresh bok choy just for you. What is the obsession?"

"I just like how it tastes in my chop suey, better. Gives it a more natural, refreshing taste, know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean." Roman glanced his way. His eyes appeared dark in the porch light. "So, what's up?"

Dean hesitated and looked back out at the ocean, listening to the wind whistle across it. The question seemed innocent enough, but the way he said it, and the way Roman knew him so well, it was loaded. "Nothing," Dean finally answered. It was the polite way of telling his friend not to go there.

Roman didn't. He actually relaxed a degree. "What did Randy want?"

"Randy?"

"Yeah. He seemed pretty anxious to talk to you. And upset. But maybe that's just me. If he was, he was being real subtle about it."

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Why would Orton be upset with me? The guy likes me, Ro."

Roman snorted in disbelief before he headed back inside. "If you say so."

Left alone with just the cool breeze and darkness, Dean pulled out his cell phone. He stared at Randy's contact information.

The guy liked him...

But how did Dean feel about him? Really?

Dean didn't hesitate to shoot off a text.

 **Back tomorrow. You better pick out a nice place.**

*Send*

* * *

 **A/N: So what did you all think? Loved it? Hated it? Do you know what direction this is going? I love reading all your comments and theories! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks, guys, for all the reviews! Of course I had to come back! I can't leave this hanging. It makes me feel really good that you guys are looking forward to each chapter, despite my late updates. It's hard balancing life with wanting to write, right? Anyway, this chapter's pretty long, but I think most of you have been waiting for this moment. I know I have. :)**

 **Chapter 2**

"I have to tell you guys _all_ about my date with Sasha last night." Seth practically beamed like a night light as he loaded his bags into the back of Roman's rental. His dark eyes glowed and he couldn't stop smiling, even though it must have been painful. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother so excited. Especially about a girl. They were usually expendable toys to him.

"What kind of man kisses and tells?" Roman teased. He shoved his luggage into the trunk, tired smile on his mug.

"The kind of man who'd had an incredible night. In-fucking-credible."

"How was she?" Dean asked. "I mean, she looks like a little firecracker in the ring, but I bet she's real timid between the sheets."

Seth gave him a death glare. "Watch your mouth, Ambrose. Besides, we didn't have sex."

Dean gaped. He noticed Roman's arched brow, wondering the same thing probably. "Seth 'Horndog' Rollins did _not_ have sex with a woman on the first date? Wait a minute, Seth 'I-Fuck-Anything-That-Has-A-Pussy-Between-Her-Legs' Rollins did not seize the opportunity to fuck Sasha Banks?"

One of the backstage guys walked by, clearing his throat and pretending not to have heard them.

Seth's face turned beet red. "Would you shut the hell up, Dean?"

Dean ignored him. "Damn, did I miss the memo that the apocalypse happened? Did Hell freeze over?"

Roman chuckled. "Come on, Dean. Seth isn't that bad."

"Thank you," Seth said. "Besides, what part of 'I respect her' don't you get? Sasha isn't that kind of woman."

"But something happened," Roman stated.

That dazed grin was back on Seth's face. "Something definitely happened. I'd invite you guys for beers, my treat, and tell you about it. But I don't like Dean so much right now."

Dean placed a hand over his heart. "That hurt, Sethie. Guess I'll stay behind and kill myself agonizing over what could have possibly gone down between you and her. Thanks a lot, you bastard."

Roman gave him a playful shove. "You're insane, man. There's a great bar downtown. You guys wanna hit there first? Seth's treat."

Dean licked his lips in anticipation of the lie he was gonna feed his brothers. But truth was, he couldn't tell them where he was actually going tonight. "Nah, you guys go ahead. I got plans."

Roman tilted his head to the side curiously. "Where you headed?"

"Solomon's in town. I promised I'd spend a few hours with him since his girl kicked him out and all." He couldn't believe how smoothly the lie came out. How steady his voice was. A tinge of guilt filled his chest, but he pushed it down and burned it. He really couldn't tell them about tonight. Especially not Ro. "Guess I'll have to get all the non-juicy details later."

Seth scoffed. "Get outta here, you perv."

* * *

Dean wasn't a nail-biter by nature, but sitting alone in his hotel room staring at his cell phone, he'd probably chewed all of them down to nubs.

Dean didn't do dates.

And he damn sure didn't do dates with enemies turned into sorta-friends-slash-make out buddies. Randy was on his way. He'd sent the text ten minutes ago.

Dean's nerves were rampant beneath his skin as he checked his appearance for the third time since receiving his message. He felt like a love-struck idiot but when was the last time he'd gone on an actual date? Not even he was immune to jitters. Dean guzzled the remainder of his beer. The sooner he got drunk, the sooner he could be having a good time.

There was a soft knock on his hotel room door. Dean's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He slapped his right cheek until it stung, and willed himself to get his shit together. He pulled open the door without preamble.

Randy Orton filled his doorway, dressed to kill in a black-on-black ensemble that bled big name designer, and tailored to his massive body like a glove. His silver jewelry was understated, but expensive. And Dean had no clue what the hell kind of cologne Orton was wearing, but he smelled fucking amazing.

Randy's devilish grin faded as he scanned Dean from head to toe. He didn't look like a man who liked what he saw. Dean would be offended if he wasn't already fretting about his own appearance.

"What are you wearing, Dean?" Randy asked. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but there was no hiding the disappointment.

Dean glanced down at his jeans and sweater. The black tennis shoes he hoped were dark enough to pass for dress shoes. His favorite leather jacket. "What?" He'd shaved his face and even combed his hair. Kinda. Okay, he'd finger-combed it, but only because the dryer had been broken when he'd gotten out of the shower. He'd done the best he could with what he had.

Randy arched a brow. "When's the last time you went on a date?"

Too long... But he wasn't gonna tell Orton that. "What can I say?" Dean shrugged. "I like simple dates."

Randy stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. "Not tonight you don't. I got reservations at one of the best restaurants in town. You're not gonna get in dressed like that."

Dean scoffed. "That's the problem with those high-end establishments. They're too busy worrying about what people look like instead of all the other shit that really matters."

Randy folded his arms across his thick chest. The guy wasn't budging, and unless Dean gave in, they weren't going anywhere.

"All right. Give me five minutes."

A slow smile spread across Randy's face. Dean's cock twitched. Damn if Orton wasn't one sexy motherfucker. Today, more than anything, there was just something about the guy.

Dean spun around on his heel and left before the naughty thought brigade took over. He wasn't a slut with self-control issues, unlike Seth. Dean grinned at the thought of his best friend. It helped cool his body temperature a little so he could dress with no distraction.

Dean ransacked his bags first, then went into Roman's until he pieced together a decent outfit: the darkest pair of fitted jeans he owned; a silky black button-down he "borrowed" from Roman, tucked into the waistband of his jeans; his favorite black leather belt with a huge silver buckle that had actually been a gift; and black work boots. They weren't dressy but they were polished and could pass for dress shoes if no one looked hard enough. For good measure, Dean threw in his small, silver hoop and slicked his hair back with product, á la Shield era. He "borrowed" Roman's silver diver watch, even though no one actually used watches to tell time anymore.

Dean stared at himself in the mirror, smiling at his reflection. He actually looked really good.

"Let's go, Dean," Randy called from the doorway. "I'm paying the driver by the hour."

Dean shrugged into his leather jacket. It probably downgraded the outfit, but Dean hated to dress up. It made him feel like an alien. At least with the jacket, he could still cling on to the part of him that was still _him._ Dean left the bathroom. "All right, let's do this."

Randy glanced up from his cell phone and froze. Those narrow blue eyes of his raked over Dean's entire body, not missing a detail.

Dean scowled at the older man. "This is as fancy as I can get on short notice. Sorry."

Randy shook his head. "No, I like it. I really like it."

Dean licked his lips. Shit, he was getting hard again.

Randy led him outside where a black Cadillac Escalade limo sat in front of the hotel like a sore thumb. It was big and gaudy with those LED undercar lights, and it was definitely Randy's style.

A driver in an actual black tux and hat stepped out to open the car door for them.

Dean frowned. "Are we going to prom or something? Because I think I left my corsage back in 2004."

Randy laughed. "I ever tell you how much I like you, Dean?" He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "After you."

Dean shook his head, but he climbed into the monstrosity of a car that was way too big for just the two of them. There was, however, free champagne. And the good stuff, too. "You're really pulling out all the stops tonight, huh? Plan on getting lucky?"

Soon as Randy aimed that lecherous grin his way, Dean regretted saying it. "I don't know what you mean," Randy said. The catch in his tone said he knew _exactly_ what Dean meant.

"Fancy ass car. Reservations at the best restaurant in town. It's just me, man. You don't gotta do all this to impress me." He would have been fine with beers, pizza, and ripped jeans.

Randy poured two glasses of bubbly. "It's my money, Dean, and I like to spend it. That's all."

"Okay, then." Dean sipped the sweet and dry, and stared out the window as they drove. They were in the nice part of town and passed by some really live places.

Randy placed a hand on Dean's thigh.

Dean turned to face him, his curious gaze lowering to Randy's large hand. He then met Randy's sincere gaze.

"I know it must have been hard accepting my offer, but I'm really glad you did."

It hadn't, really, but Dean wasn't gonna tell the Viper that. "Just remember your part of the deal." He moved his thigh out of touching distance.

Randy smiled, not taking offense. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

The Escalade swerved suddenly, the tires screeching against the asphalt. Dean cursed as his glass fell onto the floor and he was thrown into Randy's side. Cars blared their horns at them as they zoomed by.

"You okay?" Randy asked, steadying him with an arm around his shoulder.

"Yeah. What the fuck just happened?" They had come to a complete stop near the bridge.

"I don't know, but I think a tire just blew out."

The driver left the car and went to examine the damage. He popped open the hood and the hiss was loud, even from back here.

"I think that's more than just a flat tire." Dean pushed open the door and stepped outside. The sky was dark, but all the street lights lit up the area. The driver coughed as smoke spewed up in his face. "What's the problem?" Dean asked.

"Don't know. But it looks like something's wrong with the engine."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'? What happened?"

Mr. Tux gave him a droll stare. "I'm just the driver, man, not a mechanic." He pulled out his cell phone. "I'll have to call AAA."

"How long will that take?" Randy asked. He joined Dean outside, his face showing how he really felt about being inconvenienced.

"I don't know," the driver said.

Dean snorted. "Lot of that going around here."

Randy patted Dean's arm. "Don't worry about it. I'll call a cab. Is that cool with you?"

"Fine with me."

Dean went back inside to retrieve another glass of champagne. Lucky for them, they didn't have to wait long. A taxi was only ten minutes away from them. He and Randy hopped inside and Randy gave him an address. They drove off.

Randy pulled off his jacket. "Kind of freaky, how that happened."

"Yeah, sure."

"We're not that far."

They weren't. Barely fifteen minutes went by before the cab pulled up in front of a restaurant called Léando's. Dean stared up at the red and black glass façade. "Italian?"

"Oh yeah. They have some of the best seafood this side of town." Randy paid the cab driver in loose cash and they exited the car. "Ready to go?"

Dean nodded reluctantly. It could be worse. They could be downtown and accidentally run into Roman and Seth. He followed Randy inside. The place was about as fancy as Dean had expected. Lot of modern contemporary décor, glass, and candle motifs. It smelled amazing.

"Can I help you?" A stuffy-looking maître d' approached them.

"Reservations for two. Under the name Orton."

The guy pulled up the computer files. An entire minute went by of him searching. Finally, he frowned. "I'm sorry, we don't have any reservations for Orton. I have here an Orwell. Are you sure that isn't it?"

Randy glared at him. "I think I know my own last name."

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to—"

"Would you look it up again?"

The man blanched and instantly went to comply. He was probably intimidated by the sheer size of Randy. "I'm sorry, sir. That name isn't listed here."

"Let me see this thing."

"I'm afraid I can't—"

But Randy already spun the computer around to search through the list of names himself. Dean grinned at how pale the man was getting. He didn't have a clue what to do. Randy shoved the device back at him. "How is my name not here? I made these reservations two days ago. The guy I spoke with said I was lucky because they'd just had a cancellation."

"I apologize, sir. Perhaps you'd like to speak with our manager?"

"Go bring him here. Now."

The maître d' was only too happy to leave.

Randy shook his head with disbelief. "Can you believe this?"

Dean shrugged. "Shit happens." He pulled off his leather jacket. It was stuffy in here. "I'm gonna step outside for a minute."

"All right, but don't go too far."

"And if I do?"

Randy gave him a dark grin, despite how pissed he'd been a moment ago. "You think getting away from me is that easy?"

Dean watched him a moment, his head tilted with uncertainty. Randy confused the hell out of him. He couldn't tell whether the guy really was genuinely into him, or what. Not long ago, he'd been pining after Roman. It was hard to believe he'd switched gears so quickly. "I'll be outside." Dean left him alone.

Outside, the air was cold. Cold enough to clear his head. The restaurant had its own lot, surrounded by palm trees. There was even valet parking across the street. Dean scoffed at that. Valet parking, but they couldn't even get their reservations in order. He exhaled a deep breath, wishing he had a cigarette right now.

He still couldn't believe he was on a date with Randy Fucking Orton.

Dean moved to rake a hand through his hair, but stopped when he remembered he'd just styled it for tonight. For Randy. He scrubbed at his nonexistent beard, thinking about the deal he'd made with Orton. He'd enjoy tonight. Allow himself to be "wined and dined," but then afterwards, he was gonna find out what Randy's true intentions were.

The restaurant door opened and an irate Randy stormed out. "Come on, we're leaving."

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah, they lost my damn reservations."

Dean frowned. "They can't just get you another table?"

"They're all full tonight. Don't worry, there are better places than here for good, authentic Italian food."

Dean shrugged. That wasn't what Randy was saying fifteen minutes ago, but whatever... It wasn't his money.

"We'll go someplace else. Just let me get that number for the cab." Randy patted his pockets. He frowned. "Where's my wallet?"

Dean had an 'aha' moment as he realized what seemed off about Randy. "Where's your jacket?" The guy had been wearing a blazer style jacket when he'd come by Dean's hotel room.

Randy smacked his forehead as realization hit him. "No, no, fuck no. Are you kidding me right now?"

"What is it?"

"I took it off in the cab. My wallet was in the jacket. My wallet, with my license, all my cash, and credit cards."

Well, shit...

"Un-fucking-believable," Randy growled, raking a hand over his head, his face. His eyes darkened with anger he was trying desperately to hold in.

Dean felt sorry for the poor bastard. He'd gone all out for tonight, but it was ruined now. At least, in his own eyes. "I've got a few bucks on me. What do you say we go back to the hotel? Get a few beers and some pizza?"

Randy hesitated a moment, probably thinking if there was some other way. A full minute went by before he sighed with resignation. "Fine, Dean. Let's get beers and pizza."

* * *

They didn't talk the whole way back to the hotel.

Randy stayed on the phone with the credit card companies, putting a stop-freeze on his cards. He notified his bank about his debit card missing, as well.

Dean ordered pizza in advance so it would be there not long after their arrival.

When they made it to Randy's hotel room, the guy was still on the phone, this time trying to hawk down the cab driver and get his stuff back.

Dean plopped on the leather sectional. Randy had a nice room, much better than Dean's. Much cleaner, too. There was a balcony overlooking the skyline and miles of palm trees. "You got any beer?"

Randy went into the mini-fridge and handed Dean a bottle of Heineken.

Dean used his teeth to pull open the cap. He was a Miller kind of guy, but it'd do. He took a long pull of the bitter liquid and waited. His stomach growled.

Randy finally got off the phone a minute later. He fell onto the seat beside Dean, unloosening his clothes, exasperated.

"How'd it go?" Dean asked.

Randy shook his head. "All their drivers are still out on routes, but I left them my number so they could call me when they've questioned them all."

"Here." Dean handed him his bottle. "You need this more than I do."

Randy chuckled bitterly. "Thanks." He took the bottle and swigged from it. "Sorry our date got ruined."

"Don't apologize. It ain't your fault. Shit happens when you least expect it to."

"I just wanted to show you a good time. That's all."

Dean shook his head. "Don't try to impress me, either." He stood and walked around the space with slow circles. "Besides, this place ain't half bad. All we need are a bunch of candles, put on some mood music, pop some champagne, and this would be a lot better than Léando's."

Randy arched a brow. "Is that what you want?"

Dean hesitated. "Nope."

"I didn't think so."

Someone knocked on the door, then. "Pizza delivery," a timid male voice called.

"I got it." Dean pulled open the door, filling the doorway with his large frame. The guy looked like a teenager, with braces and deer-in-the-headlights wide eyes. "You got my beer?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yes, sir." The kid showed him the case of Miller Lite he'd set on the floor next to the door.

"Cool." Dean paid for the food, and slipped him a little extra for getting his beer. "Thanks, man. Stay in school." He shut the door closed.

Randy perked up as the smell of cheesy, greasy goodness filled the air. "What kind did you get?" he asked.

"Meat lover's supreme. With pineapples."

"Pineapples?"

Dean grinned. He'd never eaten his pizza like that until he started hanging around Roman and his cousins. "Yeah, it breaks up all that meat and cheese and gives it a tangy, sweet balance. You're crazy if you don't like it."

"I'll try it. Just got a feeling those words you used weren't exactly yours."

Dean glanced away from him. He wasn't trying to think of Roman right now. Really. "Are we seriously doing this?"

"It's no big deal, Dean. He's your boy. I get that. You two have been friends for years. Of course he's had some kind of influence on you. It'd be unnatural if he didn't."

"And you're okay with that?"

Randy shrugged. He grabbed a slice of pizza and set it on a napkin.

Dean placed the box on the table and sat beside him, his gaze hard and unrelenting. It was time for some answers. "Despite how tonight went, I kept my end of the deal. Now you've gotta keep yours."

Randy took a big bite of his pizza, a small moan escaping him. "Mmm, this is pretty good."

"Orton."

"Yeah, yeah." Randy set aside his half-eaten slice and turned to face Dean. His expression was passive and unreadable. "Honestly?"

Dean nodded. "No shit, man."

Randy slumped against the cushion, as if he needed to be completely relaxed before he had this conversation. "Truthfully, I was initially attracted to Reigns. I won't deny that."

Dean gave him a small smile. He knew it.

Randy continued, "What can I say? The guy looked good. He seemed like a laid-back person. Exactly the kind of guy I wanted to be around."

"'Wanted to'? Past tense?"

"I don't want Roman anymore."

"Why not?"

As Randy stared at him, his blue eyes narrowed with heat, Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The guy looked at him as if he were a piece of steak, ready to be devoured.

"I met you," Randy answered.

Dean arched a brow. "What does meeting me have to do with anything?" Besides the fact he'd terrorized the guy for wanting Roman.

A slow smile spread across Randy's face. He took another bite of his pizza. Sipped his beer. Finally, he said, "You intrigued me, Dean."

Dean mirrored Randy's actions, stuffing his mouth full of pizza and brew. He wanted badly to ask 'how so,' but he gave Orton the floor. He'd just sit back and listen, and try to be cool about it.

Randy continued, "You challenged me. Called me out on my shit. And you weren't afraid to get in my face. You don't mince your words for anyone's sake, and you damn sure don't try to be polite for the hell of it. I liked that. It made you sexy to me. Sexier than Roman. I knew I wanted you, then."

Dean swallowed hard, nearly choking on his half-chewed bite of pizza. He coughed, and Randy leaned in close, patting his back with that strong hand of his. "I'm okay," Dean rasped. He drank more beer, finishing off his first can of Miller Lite.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

Dean wiped his mouth and glanced at him. He was so confused. "What about—"

"Your feelings for Roman?"

Dean paused, but finally, after several seconds, he nodded. Randy already knew, so there was no point denying it to the guy.

"Well, that just makes things all the more challenging, don't it?" Randy smirked. "Besides, I knew from the beginning how you felt about Roman from the way you acted towards me. The first time I worked out with you guys, remember?"

"Or maybe," Dean countered, "I treated you that way because you were an arrogant bastard. Ever think of that?"

Randy laughed. "Maybe." He touched Dean's thigh, his touch light and soothing as he kneaded the tense muscles with his fingertips.

Dean shuddered. His cock twitched with the beginnings of arousal.

"That's what I like about you, Dean," Randy whispered, his breath warm and sweet against his cheek.

"What? That I talk shit about you?"

"That you're honest." His hand moved up higher. "That you say what you want without caring what anyone thinks about you." Somehow, his hand made its way up to Dean's face. Randy cupped his cheek, gaze glued to the lips he was brushing his thumb across. "You're also pretty damn nice to look at, too."

"You're not so bad yourself."

Randy smiled. He put himself in Dean's line of sight and pressed their lips together, soft but firm.

Dean moaned into the kiss. Randy tasted even sweeter than he smelled.

The kiss was tentative, Randy probably wondering if this was okay, while Dean pondered the same thing. He gripped Randy's arm, feeling his muscles, trying to allow himself to fall into the moment. To think about what was going on with Orton right now, and not the only other man he really wanted to kiss.

It was damned hard.

Even though he'd kissed Randy more heatedly before, both times had been motivated by anger and revenge. Nothing like this.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Randy pulled away first.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Dean said.

Randy gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. This is still new between us, and I know you can't just shut off your feelings for Reigns."

Dean opened another can of beer. "It ain't from lack of trying, believe me." He felt like an idiot for being in love with a guy he could never have.

"I actually believe you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here with me. But next time, there won't be this many fuck-ups. Things are actually gonna go right."

"'Next time'?" Dean arched a brow at him. "What makes you so sure I'm gonna agree to this again?"

"Oh, there will be a next time." Randy gave him a knowing smile. His bright gaze shifted down to the partially erect bulge in Dean's jeans.

Dean's cheeks grew hot. He grabbed a pillow from the sofa and placed it in his lap. "You're a real arrogant prick, you know that?"

"I know. You like it, though."

Dean snorted. "We'll see." He hid his growing smile behind another bite of pizza. Yeah, he might actually go out with him again next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. Life happens, you know? Air conditioners break down, leaving you to suffer in the heat... Anyway, enough about me. Enjoy this latest installment. :)**

 **Chapter 3**

"Where were you last night?"

Dean glanced up from his spot on the floor between two steel foot lockers. He'd been doing push-ups, getting ready for his match against that idiot, The Miz, once Nikki Bella versus Paige ended.

Roman stood over him, hair pulled back and dressed in his street clothes. He didn't have to wrestle tonight. "Seth and I came back to the room, but we didn't find you there. You didn't pick up your phone either."

Dean mentally cursed. He'd turned the thing off before he and Randy had stepped into Léando's. They'd had a sign asking diners to turn their phones off to keep from disturbing other customers. "Hotel bar," he lied. Again. He continued doing push-ups, wanting to drive his head into the concrete. Lying was the absolute worst. Especially to Ro.

"Why were you down there?"

Dean stood, chest panting from all the exertion. He snatched up his towel and wiped sweat from his face. "I needed a drink, man. That's all."

Roman arched a brow. "You and Solomon?"

Oh, shit. He'd forgotten about that. Dean cleared his throat. "Sol was a no-show. I tried calling the bastard, but he didn't answer his phone."

"So your phone _was_ on?"

Dean stared into his best friend's suspicion-addled face. His heart pumped faster than when he'd been working out. "What is this, Ro? Twenty-one questions? If you got something you wanna ask me, just ask me."

Roman held out his hands in a "calm down, crazy" gesture. "It's nothing like that, Dean. I actually wish you would've met us downtown if your friend never showed up. You could have spared me from hours of listening to Seth gush about Sasha. The guy's smitten."

"Smitten. That's a good word." Dean grinned.

"Yeah. Our baby brother is finally becoming a man."

"Finally." Dean lifted his arms to the ceiling and gazed upward. "Hallelujah, praise Jesus, and such."

Roman shoved his shoulder. "You're nuts."

"I'm a soybean, remember."

Roman burst into laughter, his rich voice filling the tight space. "What is wrong with you, Ambrose? Did you hit your head or something?" He cupped Dean's chin, using his grip to turn Dean's face left and right, searching for physical signs of concussion.

Dean only grinned, his gaze studying Roman's face. He liked it when he smiled like this. His steel eyes got all squinty, the laugh lines at the corner of his mouth became more prominent, and Dean could see every shiny, white tooth. It was a good look for him.

"Stop flirting, you two."

Roman's hand dropped as the Bella twins walked by, arm-in-arm. They grinned at them like two identical Cheshire cats keeping secrets.

"You love it when we flirt," Dean countered.

The girls laughed. "When's the wedding?" Brie called after them.

Dean shook his head. "Can you believe those two?" He hesitated as he glanced into Roman's face. Roman—who looked so uncomfortable now. He was frowning, his gaze distant and unfocused. "Ro—"

"Dean, you're on in one," one of the stage directors interrupted.

Dean cursed. "I gotta go, Ro."

Roman didn't say anything.

Dean placed a careful hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, they were just messing around, man."

Roman finally glanced up at him. He smiled again, only this time it was completely forced. "I know. I'm good."

"Dean, you're on now."

With that, Dean left Roman alone and marched off to the Gorilla Position, waiting for his music to hit. He frowned, suddenly in the mood to really kick some ass.

* * *

Dean burst into the locker room, grinning ear-to-ear. "Guess who's the number one contender for the Intercontinental Championship, baby?"

Roman stopped conversing with Titus, Jimmy, and Jey. He gave him a genuine smile. "Congrats, Ambrose. You deserve it."

"Damn right, I do." He strode inside, bumping fists with the Usos and high-fiving O'Neil.

Roman shook his head. "Did you really have to beat him so badly, though?"

Dean shrugged, then winced at the pain shooting through his arms. Silly as he was, Miz was still a tough wrestler. Dean needed some Bengay and Tylenol. And ice. Lots of it. "And Epsom salt," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Just talking to myself."

The door opened and Randy strutted inside, smug smile in place while he clapped his hands. "Congratulations, Dean."

Dean smirked, chest puffed out as he faced off with the Viper. "I'd thank you if you were sincere."

"Oh, I am sincere. Really sincere. I'm glad you beat Miz tonight. I wouldn't want anyone else."

Dean's smile faded as confusion took its place. What the hell was he talking about?

Randy's smile widened. "I see you're confused, so I guess I'll explain."

"Yeah, please do."

"I have a rematch clause I've never used."

Dean arched a brow. "So?"

"So that means I can still invoke it any time I want. That means _I_ could potentially challenge Miz for the belt, beat him, and become the new Intercontinental champion." He jabbed a finger into Dean's chest. "Then you'll have to fight me instead."

Dean's jaw tensed as he stared into that arrogant face. As easy as it'd been to beat Miz, it would be harder to win against Randy's craftiness. A slow smile spread across his face at the challenge to come. "Go ahead and invoke it, baby. All that means is that I get to beat your ass in front of fifteen thousand people."

Randy shook his head, but his smile stayed in place. "I knew you'd say that."

Dean grinned before grabbing his towel and a change of clothes. He needed to hit the shower.

"Oh, by the way, I got my wallet and jacket back." Randy held out the leather case for Dean to see. "The guy didn't take anything, thank God."

"Cool. You got it back this morning?"

Randy nodded. "I went down to pick it up myself."

"You two were together last night?" Roman, who had been quiet the entire time, asked.

Dean blinked at his best friend. Shit, he'd almost forgotten he was standing there. Dean raked a hand through his hair. "We bumped into each other at the bar. Randy was pissed 'cuz he'd lost his wallet in a taxi. I thought I'd help him out."

"Yeah," Randy said. He covered his mouth, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. "That's exactly what happened."

Dean clenched his fists, wanting to punch the guy. He really hated all this lying crap. "I'm gonna head out, guys."

"You wanna ride back with me?"

"You need a ride to the next town?"

Dean glanced between Roman and Randy while they spoke simultaneously. When they realized what they'd done, Roman blushed. Randy gave him a small smile.

"It's cool," Randy said. "He's your boy. You should ride with him."

Roman inclined his head. "Appreciate it." He nodded at Dean. "I'll be waiting outside when you're done showering. Don't take all day, princess."

Dean watched Randy's retreating back. Even though he stood tall, seemingly unfazed, Dean just had a feeling he wasn't okay with it. Not really. Randy's words filtered through his head. The ones about not competing with Roman. Dean inwardly snorted at how impossible that was. Couldn't be much of a competition if only one of them wanted him. "Actually, Ro, you go ahead, man. I'm gonna ride with Randy."

Randy glanced back over his shoulder. The guy was usually so composed with his emotions, but the shock on his face was visible this time.

Dean held back a grin.

Roman frowned as he looked between the two of them. "You're going with Randy? You sure that's a good idea?"

"Don't worry, we won't kill each other. Besides, we're kinda getting along, right Orton?"

Randy only nodded. Probably at a loss for words.

"See?"

Roman didn't look so convinced, but what could he do? He patted Dean's shoulder. "I guess I'll see you in Savannah."

"For sure."

Roman nodded at Randy before he left them alone in the locker room. Again.

Randy folded his arms across his chest as he stared at Dean.

Dean frowned. "What?"

"What was that about?"

Dean peeled off the muscle shirt from his sweaty body. "What was _what_ about?"

"You choosing to go with me instead of Roman. Why?"

Dean hesitated before he tossed the shirt into his gym bag. He sighed softly. "It ain't a competition, Randy. As much as it gallsme to say this, I like you. And I'm pretty sure you like me too, so I guess you're gonna be my number one choice from now on. At least until you find some way to fuck this up."

Randy chuckled as he stalked over to him, closing the distance between them in just three long steps. "I don't plan on fucking anything. Up, that is." He winked.

Dean sucked in a deep breath as heat from Randy's nearness encased him. And he'd thought it was hot before. It was stifling, but not entirely uncomfortable. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

"Yes, we will. Now hurry up and get showered."

Dean snorted, but he went to comply, bumping his shoulder into Randy's as he walked by. "Ass."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow, you guys are so intuitive. I'm glad you're are picking up on the hints, but who knows _what_ Roman might do? ;) Lol! Glad you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing. **

**Chapter 4**

"Welcome to Monday Night Raw, live from Atlanta! I'm Michael Cole, joined alongside fellow commentators, WWE legend, JBL, and Byron Saxton. And we're kicking things off tonight with a title match for the Intercontinental Championship. It was just announced that Randy Orton has decided to invoke his long-held rematch clause. That match was made by Vince McMahon and is starting now. Joining us on commentary is number one contender for the Intercontinental Championship, Dean Ambrose. Dean, how are you feeling tonight?"

Dean gave an amused smile to the long-winded commentator. "I feel great, Cole. We're in Hotlanta, baby! Not a lot of places get much better than this. Not a lot of fans are as passionate or heated as the fans here. You feel the heat, Cole? I do. I feel it."

"It's below fifty, actually," JBL mumbled, the surlier of the bunch, plus the one who couldn't stand Dean.

Dean was only too happy to be sitting next to him. "C'mon, JBL. Haven't you ever heard the Christmas carol? Baby, it's cold outside, but it's scorching in Hotlanta! That's an all-year long thing too."

Cole interjected, "Now, Dean. You just beat The Miz for the opportunity to face him again for a title match. Does Randy deciding to face him first throw a wrench into your plans?"

Dean spun slightly in his comfy swivel chair, staring at the empty ring. He glanced around at all the chanting fans. Dean breathed it all in with a smile. "First off, Dean Ambrose don't make plans. I react. And I adjust if I don't get it right the first time, which is rare. Second, whether The Miz retains the title or Randy takes it from him, it doesn't matter. I'll take on either one of them. Both of them. Both of them at the same time with Byron in the fray. I don't care who it is. I want that title, and I'll defeat anyone who tries to stop me from getting it."

Randy's theme song came on and the crowd went mad with cheers for the Viper. Randy stalked his way down the ramp like he always did. Slow. Methodical. Very much like the predator he _thought_ he was. Randy slid into the ring and went for the turnbuckle, falling into his signature pose, those sharp eyes scanning over the WWE Universe in appreciation.

Dean watched him, embarrassed to be so close to Randy's nearly bare, oiled-down, chiseled body. He readjusted himself in his seat. He couldn't even remember when he'd started thinking about Orton like this...

"So, in your position, Dean, who do you want to win tonight?"

JBL snorted derisively. "What kind of stupid question is that, Byron? _Of course_ he wants The Miz to win. He doesn't want to face Randy. Randy is easily fifty times harder to beat than The Miz."

Dean shrugged. "There you have it, Saxton. All in a nutshell."

The Miz's theme music came on, and everyone booed. He swaggered down the ramp, that gold and white belt glistening from the shoulder of his leather-esque Power Rangers jacket.

In the ring, Miz taunted Randy, sending the Viper into a frenzy that nearly cost him his stupid head. The official got them under control after several moments. He held the belt in the air between them.

"Introducing first, the challenger, from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds, Randy Orton!"

Randy didn't do any showboating, and Dean commended him for it. Instead, his gaze was laser focused, eyeing Miz up like he was a target that needed to be exterminated.

"Next, residing in Hollywood, California, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-one pounds, he is the current Intercontinental champion, The Miz!"

Dean joined in with the litany of boos being hurled at The Miz from all sides.

JBL arched a brow at him. "Are you really booing The Miz? That man is one of the greatest champions alive. You could learn a thing or two from him."

"I mean, if he beats Randy tonight fair-and-square, then we'll see."

"I don't think Miz has won _anything_ fair-and-square," Byron commented.

The ref pointed to one competitor, then the other, then finally signaled for the bell.

Dean watched as the two circled one another, Randy looking for an opening, while Miz prepared to avoid whatever Randy dished out. "Should be good," Dean said with a smile. "And I got the best seats in the house."

Randy moved in to lock-up, but Miz ducked beneath him and circled behind him, wrapping his arms around Randy's waist. Randy anchored down while working to pry off Miz's grip.

"I don't think it's gonna be long. I think it's gonna be a really short one. How 'bout you guys?"

Michael Cole shrugged, not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him.

"My dollar's on Randy beating Miz and winning the Intercontinental Championship in fifteen minutes," Byron said.

Dean grinned. "Whatever you bet, I'll double it. Ten minutes."

"There's no gambling at the announce table," JBL whined, face reddened with embarrassment for them. "Are you two out of your minds?"

Dean couldn't help laughing to see the man get so worked up. "We are out of our minds. And damn proud of it, too. Put it right here, Saxton."

Saxton gave a short, breathy laugh as he reached over Cole to bump Dean's proffered fist.

"There you go. Welcome to the Asylum."

The collective 'ooh' from the crowd turned Dean's attention back to the match. Randy was lying on his back, while Miz stood over him, talking shit. "You think you can challenge me? Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do? _I_ am the greatest Intercontinental Champion these people have ever seen!"

"I wonder what this guy eats for breakfast every morning to inspire so much... confidence," Byron said, using air quotations for "confidence."

"I'll tell you what he needs to eat for breakfast. None of that gluten-free, non-dairy, whole-wheat crap. Someone give that man a giant bowl of Booty-Os!" Dean said.

"You're insane. Miz exudes confidence all on his own."

Dean gave JBL a sympathetic glance. "You know you don't really have to kiss his ass, do you?"

JBL glared at him, but Dean ignored it as he focused on the match. Randy had turned the tables around on Miz. Now he was the one grabbing the guy up from the mat. He Irish-whipped him into the ropes. Just as Miz bounced off, Randy caught him in a shattering power slam that had the fans chanting "one more time." Randy reached down to pull up Miz's stretched-out body, but Miz was waiting.

Grabbing Randy by the back of his neck, Miz pulled him down into a small package.

The ref hit the mat. "One... two..."

Randy kicked out. The look on his mug from being tricked was straight-up aggression.

A slow grin spread across Dean's face. He liked that look.

The match dragged on as they went to commercial break. It was a good one. Just enough highs to keep the crowd into it. Dean swiveled back and forth in his chair, chipping into the conversation whenever one of them asked him something, but he watched Randy. Maybe a little too closely.

It was obvious that Randy was not wrestling at full potential. He let Miz get off more of his power moves. Let him showboat a little.

Randy had The Miz hooked through the second rope, and with no hesitation, DDT'd him. Not wasting any time, he fell to the mat, his big, sweat-covered body hovering over it as he eyed his opponent and pounded his fists.

Most of the crowd got to their feet in expectation of the move to come.

"Uh-oh, he's going for it!" Dean said.

The Miz staggered to his feet, dazed. Randy stalked him. The moment Miz turned around, Randy grabbed him, prepared to deliver his finisher, the RKO.

But Miz gave him the slightest push, just enough to keep him from flying to the ropes. He hooked Randy's arms from behind and delivered a Skullcrushing Finale.

The cheers and "RKO" chants immediately turned into "Miz, you suck" chants.

Miz crawled on top of Randy for the pin.

"Will The Miz defeat Randy Orton and retain his Intercontinental Championship?" Cole asked, the excitement evident in his voice.

The ref's hand hit the mat. "One... two... th—"

Randy got his shoulder up. Just barely.

"And Randy narrowly gets his shoulder off the mat!" Cole exclaimed.

Dean cringed. "That was a little too close, wasn't it?"

JBL snorted. "It wouldn't be the first time The Miz pinned Orton with a title on the line."

"Guys, Randy's gonna have to think of something quick if he hopes to beat Miz," Byron said.

The Miz pulled at his short hair and glared at the official. "Are you kidding me, ref?"

The referee shook his head while holding up two fingers. "That was two, Miz."

"What?" Miz hopped to his feet and right into the smaller man's face. "That was three! Your hand was down. You hit the mat. One, two, three!"

Dean shook his head as he watched Miz argue with the guy, using his height and size advantage to loom over him. "If Miz somehow wins tonight, and I get to go against him for the belt, I'm gonna look forward to shoving my fist into his face. Multiple times."

JBL shook his head with disgust. "What a lunatic."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

While Miz continued to argue, Randy had recovered enough to drag him down into a roll up.

The referee dropped to the mat. "One... two..."

Miz kicked out. His face red and angry, he got up to attack, but this time Randy was waiting. He hooked him into an RKO and dropped him.

"Boom! And that's all she wrote, boys." Dean laughed.

Randy fell into the cover amidst the "RKO" chants and cheers, so loud they drowned out the sounds of Dean's own thoughts.

"One... two... three!"

The cheers grew even louder. Randy's theme song came on as he dragged himself to his feet and the referee held up his hand.

"And your new Intercontinental champion, Randy Orton!"

Dean closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. He should have known that winning this thing wouldn't be _that_ damn easy. Ever since he'd stepped foot into the WWE, everything had been a struggle. Nothing had ever been handed to him except for the opportunity to go out there and prove himself. Title shots were few and far between, and Dean scraped and fought tooth and nail for those. He more than proved himself to the upper echelon that he could come out here night after night, week after week, and put on a show. Give the audience what they wanted. That he deserved to be their champion. Even if it was just the Intercontinental champion.

Dean opened his eyes and met Randy's dark gaze, locked on him like he was his next target. Dean smiled. He would prove himself against Randy next. "Well, boys, thanks for having me out here. I appreciate it." He stood and removed his headset.

Randy's gaze never wavered as he held up the belt for Dean to see.

Dean nodded. "Bring it on."

* * *

"Nice job on commentary."

Dean looked up from taping his wrists to see Seth approaching. His friend was dressed in street clothes and hobbling around on a single crutch. But his smile was radiant. Dean couldn't help smiling back. "Thanks, man. You know, I like to think of myself as the handyman of WWE. I can do everything, you know what I'm saying? I can wrestle every night, I can provide color commentary. Hell, I can even do ring announcing and timekeeping if they let me."

Seth rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're the PG Era's Howard Finkel."

"I'd like to be." Dean grabbed his water bottle. "What's up with you? You look good. Rehab going okay?"

Seth leaned against one of the stacked foot lockers, taking the pressure off his knee. "Rehab's going good, brother. I have that Biodex test coming up soon, and I'm feeling really confident about it. Doc says if I pass it, I'll be back even sooner than we thought."

Dean took a swig of his drink before pouring the rest through his hair. "That's awesome, dude. I hope you pass it. So why the crutch though?"

"I had a hardcore workout at the gym earlier. I put my body through it tonight. Knee's sore as all hell, but it feels good."

"Yeah? You know I could kiss it better, if you want."

Dean grinned at Seth's twisted up face. "Why would I want that?" Seth asked.

"I've been told I'm a pretty good kisser. That my lips are like magic. Cures everything."

Seth frowned even harder. "Don't be disgusting, Ambrose."

Dean laughed but wagged his tongue at his brother. It was fun getting under Seth's skin.

"Check it out." Seth inclined his head toward the opposite hallway.

Dean turned around to find Randy there, still dressed in ring gear, but this time with a towel around his shoulders. He was being interviewed by Tom Phillips for Raw Fallout.

"You gonna be ready for your match against him?" Seth asked.

Dean didn't take his eyes off Randy. He observed that arrogant smile of his, like he'd already _known_ he was gonna win tonight's match. He stood there, chest puffed up, body looking all defined and shiny due to the bright lights and sweat. The white of the title on his shoulder did look good against his darkly tanned skin. "Nah," Dean finally answered. "I ain't worried about Orton. If he's come looking for a fight, well baby he just found one."

Seth burst into laughter, even as he wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders. "Good luck with that. _Baby._ "

Dean faced him, giving him his most sardonic smile. "Aw. You say the sweetest things." He patted Seth's cheek a little too hard before pulling away from his semi-hug. Tom had already left Randy by the time Dean turned back in his direction. He took a step toward him.

"Oh, god. What do you plan on doing?"

Dean grinned, but held up his hands in a 'don't-shoot-I'm-innocent' manner. "I'm only gonna go say hi. That's it."

"You never just go up and say hi, that's it."

"Trust me, brother." Before Seth could protest, Dean strolled over to where Randy was loitering. Seth wasn't too far behind. Dean could hear his mumbles and the sound of his crutch every time he planted it on the floor. "Yo, Randy."

Randy lowered the towel he'd been using to mop up the sweat from his face and head. He met both their gazes. "Dean. Seth."

"Hey, how's it going?" Seth asked, coming to stand at Dean's side.

"It's going pretty damn well." Randy eyed his title and couldn't hold in that smug smile again.

Fire burned in Dean's gut as the competitive nature inside him came to life. More than anything, he wanted to steal that title from him and grind it into his face. Dean clenched his fists. He thought he was determined before. Now he was motivated. If only just to wipe away that look. "I just wanted to congratulate you on your win tonight. It was a good match. Predictable. But still good."

Randy folded his arms across his chest, smile still in place. "Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it. Especially coming from you."

"No problem, man. I just hope you don't think beating me will be that easy, 'cuz it won't. Just saying."

Randy chuckled. "I _hope_ you're still this nice after our match." He gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze before he walked in the opposite direction.

Dean glanced at his bare shoulder, his skin tingling from Randy's warm touch.

"Well, damn," Seth said.

Dean turned around to face Randy's retreating figure. "Hey Orton, hold on a sec."

"Dean..."

He ignored his little brother as he made his way into Randy's private space, standing inches away from the older male's face. Up close like this, Randy smelled good, like clean sweat, and sweet like baby oil. But Dean tried not to think of that while they stood nearly toe-to-toe. He had a match with Kevin Owens in a few minutes, and he did not want to be sporting wood during it.

"What is it, Dean? I need to hit the shower, if you hadn't noticed."

"You know, I'm really glad you won tonight's match. Because now I get to _officially_ beat your ass. Since the moment I met you, it's been a dream of mine, actually."

Randy arched a brow. "Really?"

"Really."

Seth walked past them, trying his best not to snicker, but spurts of it kept coming out.

Instead of being pissed off by his words, Randy seemed to be turned on instead. He smiled, his eyes taking in every inch of Dean's body, making Dean feel like he was standing in front of him buck ass naked.

The fire in Dean's gut? Nothing compared to the fire covering his skin from the lust Randy stirred in him.

"I guess we'll just have to see then, won't we?"

Dean didn't respond, his mouth suddenly dry. He followed after Seth, making sure to bump Randy's shoulder as he went. Juvenile though it was.

"Really?" Randy called after him.

Dean turned back to him and gave him a wink. "Really."

* * *

 **A/N: Another thing I enjoy? Writing about these two. The chemistry between them makes it sooo easy~**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Bear with me, guys, I have NO internet at home and probably won't have it back on anytime soon. Life, man... But I didn't forget about you guys. So, so sorry for the long wait, and I hope this chapter makes up for it. This one was _really_ hard to write! Enjoy~**

 **Chapter 5**

Dean had waited a week for this.

Standing in the middle of the ring, he stared at Randy and that title glistening on his bare shoulder. He was completely calm, not the slightest hint of nerves running through his blood. In fact, he was fired up. His whole body itched to take on the self-proclaimed Viper, and he was having a hard time standing still because of it.

"Introducing first, the challenger, from Cincinnati, Ohio, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds, Dean Ambrose!"

Dean stepped in Randy's face—as close as the referee would allow—and held his hands out at his waist. "That belt's coming home with me tonight!"

Randy gave him a disbelieving grin.

"Next, from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds, he is the current Intercontinental champion, Randy Orton!"

More cheers, though not quite as loud as Dean's.

Randy held up the belt, his gaze locked with Dean's, that same smile in place. He didn't say a word as he handed it off. Hell, he barely even glanced at the official.

Dean paced in his corner, cracking his knuckles, hitting his jaw, waiting to get at Randy. "Ring the fucking bell," he mumbled.

They rang the bell.

Dean ran at Randy, catching him off guard. Instead of going for the predictable lock-up, Dean swept Randy's feet out from under him. As soon as Orton's back hit the mat, Dean was on him like a mad dog, raining blows on his head and face.

The crowd went nuts with "Let's go, Ambrose!" and "Let's go, Orton!" chants.

Randy turned over, shielding his face from his fists. He tried to crawl into a standing position, but Dean grabbed him into a chin lock. He didn't have a plan, but he knew he didn't have a chance unless he kept up a frenetic pace and wore Orton down.

Randy growled beneath him, not too pleased with the onset of the match.

Dean couldn't help a grin. "Told you it wasn't gonna be easy."

Randy used his strength to get up, though Dean still held on. On his feet now, Randy drove his elbow into Dean's jaw.

Dean automatically let go as spots briefly filled his vision. Randy grabbed his arm and moved behind him, twisting his arm behind his back.

Thinking quickly, Dean maneuvered his right leg behind Randy's left one, using it to trip the bigger man face-first into the mat. Before he could recover, Dean straddled him and put him into a modified cross-face.

Randy's groan was more frustration than pain.

Dean barely stopped himself from laughing as he torqued back on his neck. The gratification coursing through him felt so damn good.

Randy gripped his hands and pried them off. He slowly got to his feet, but Dean clotheslined him.

Randy sprang up. Dean clotheslined him again. Randy jumped up a second time, his mug twisted in anger as he moved to deliver the same technique, but Dean caught his arm and hooked him for a reverse neckbreaker. He hopped up and pounded his chest. "Come on!"

"Ambrose! Ambrose! Ambrose!"

Dean rode the wave of their collective energy as he dragged Randy up and pushed him into the closest turnbuckle.

He was winning the belt tonight.

Dean climbed onto the rope, his hand on Randy's head as he delivered a blow. Then another. And another.

The fans counted aloud, "...four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!"

Dean locked an arm around Randy's neck and hit him with a running Bulldog. He covered him.

"One... two..."

Randy kicked out.

Dean pounded the mat in frustration. He stared at Randy's prone, panting figure, racking his brain for what he could do next. He needed to go big if he wanted to defeat Randy.

Grabbing his legs, Dean dragged Orton near the turnbuckle once more. Randy was unmoving. Dean climbed onto the top rope and perched there, waiting for the Viper to stand. "Get up."

Randy staggered to his feet, gazing around with hazy eyes.

Dean jumped, prepared to hammer him, but Randy jumped as well. His long legs giving him the advantage, he caught Dean in the mouth with a dropkick.

Dean tasted blood on his tongue as he landed on his back, his blurry vision locked on the ceiling.

"Do you think you can beat me?" Randy snarled. "Do you think you can actually give me a challenge?" He yanked Dean into a sitting position and grabbed him into a chokehold.

Dean gasped as his breathing was suddenly constricted.

Almost immediately, Randy dropped back with him, his thick arm locked around Dean's throat while he held him in place with his legs wrapped around his lower torso. "Ask him!"

"What do you say, Dean?" The official asked.

Dean gripped Randy's forearm. He grit his teeth. "No."

Randy tightened the hold, locking Dean tighter against his hard, sweaty body.

Dean closed his eyes and tried not to think of how challenging catching his breath was. Literally. He worked on prying off Randy's arms, even though they were slick to the touch. In fact his entire body was slippery and hot. Pressed so close together, Dean could feel the heat floating off him in waves. And holy fuck, Randy was not wearing a cup, either. The guy's heavy cock pressed into his lower back.

"What do you say, Dean?" Randy whispered, his warm breaths like a staccato in Dean's ear.

Not that he could actually say anything, but Dean struggled to get out of his grasp. He drove all his weight against Randy, forcing the man's shoulders down onto the mat.

"One... two..."

Randy kicked out, breaking the hold.

Dean sucked in a lungful of oxygen. Barely lasted a second before Randy pulled him up by the hair and Irish-whipped him against the ropes. When Dean bounced off, his vision went tilt-a-whirl as Randy caught him in a quick power slam. Whatever little breath he'd managed to salvage left him when his back hit the mat.

Randy didn't give him room to breathe. He yanked him up again, this time by his muscle shirt, pulling it over his head and tearing it. The fabric didn't give way so easily and it bit at Dean's underarms and neck.

He went like a ragdoll as Randy dragged him onto the second rope, placing his neck there and shoving his knee into the back of it. Dean choked out an agonized cry as once again, breathing was difficult as hell. The hard rope was almost cutting.

"You're gonna beat my ass?" Randy taunted. "Officially?"

"Come on, Randy, get him off the rope. One... two... three... four..."

Randy removed his knee.

Dean slumped. They were only a few short minutes into the match and already he was sore.

Randy grabbed him up by the waistband of his jeans. He shoved him through the rope, positioning him for his signature DDT.

Dean went almost willingly, bracing himself for impact when something sharp and heavy landed on his ass. Dean jerked, swallowing the natural impulse to yell "ow." Did Randy just smack him on the ass?

Oh. Hell. No.

Randy prepared to drop him, but Dean got his feet down and grounded himself. He grabbed Randy around the waist and pulled him close before dumping him over the top rope.

The fans in the front row got on their feet to get a good look at Randy's downed body.

"Do it, Dean!" "Air Ambrose!" They yelled and clapped.

Dean didn't even hesitate. His body was running on pure adrenaline now. He got a good running start before launching himself through the ropes, intending to put Orton into the barricade.

Randy caught him in a bear hug.

Dean's eyes widened. "No, no, no." Usually, it was always the freakishly big guys who caught Dean mid-air, like Braun Strowman or Big Show. Not only did Randy catch him, he made it look pretty damn effortless too.

Randy drilled his lower spine into the apron.

Dean cried out at the pain.

The crowd booed, Dean the favorite to win tonight.

Randy didn't let go, even though the referee yelled at him to get him inside before starting his count. Randy continued to march forward, like he was trying to break Dean's spine in half on the hardest part of the ring.

It didn't even hurt, but Dean clenched his teeth anyway and closed his eyes. A wave of lust so profound passed through him, throwing him off balance. In this position, he could feel every inch of Randy pressed against him. Every hard fucking inch pushing between his legs.

His own cock twitched at the friction. It was all Dean could do to keep from moaning.

He tried to think of the things he needed to do: the match he had to finish, the title he had to win, the fans he needed to please. Anything to kill whatever this thing was between them before it exploded at an inopportune moment.

Dean head-butted him. Twice. When Randy let go of him, he slunk down the older male's body. It didn't help they were both bare-chested and sweaty. Taking advantage of Randy favoring his skull, Dean grabbed him and launched him shoulder first into the barricade. "Bitch," he spat, clutching his fists, letting his anger and determination override the lust.

"Six!" The referee exclaimed.

Dean pulled Randy up and hauled him toward the ring. He wasn't gonna win the Intercontinental belt through a count-out. He slid Randy in first, but not before giving him another blow to the forehead for good measure. Dean followed him inside the squared circle.

Randy waited until he turned around before grabbing him into a roll up pin.

"One... two..."

Dean rolled out of it, then crawled to Randy's downed body to pin him.

"One... two..."

Randy countered with a pin of his own, which Dean flipped into. The ref counted. Dean rocked forward, using his legs to hold down Randy's shoulders. The ref counted again. Randy kicked out at two.

They stared each other down while keeping their distance.

Applause rose up from the masses. "This is awesome" chants started up and quickly spread, almost deafening.

Randy gave him a grin Michael Cole was probably labeling as "sinister" over at the announce table.

But Dean knew the real reason behind it. Nothing malicious about the lust written on his face, hidden in plain sight.

Dean's skin was hot all over. And not just because of the match.

Randy jumped to his feet first. Dean followed him. They circled each other, getting closer and closer with each point. This time when they made contact, they locked up.

The match dragged on for what seemed like forever, but was probably only several minutes. For some reason or another, it had turned into straight technical wrestling.

Now, Dean was—without a doubt—the grappling master of the WWE. But Randy was one of the best technical wrestlers Dean had ever seen. There'd been plenty of stalemates. And a whole hell of a lot of grappling and modified submissions. Sweaty, panting bodies pressed against one another. The match had turned so sexually charged, Dean was ready to combust from it all. He was definitely sporting wood now, and it was too embarrassing to even think about. A couple times he almost threw in the towel just so he could go backstage and cool off.

But the thought of coming so close to winning the Intercontinental belt and giving it up that easily when another opportunity was so uncertain... it kept him fighting.

He pushed his tired limbs and pried Randy off, hitting him in the jaw with a jab, then the chest with a chop. Again with the jab, and another chop. Jab. Chop. Jab. Chop. Jab chop, jabchop, jabchopjabchopjabchop... until he forced Randy into the corner.

He lifted Randy into a sitting position on the top of the turnbuckle, and to assure Randy wouldn't fight back, he delivered a couple rights to the head. Dean didn't waste any time setting Randy up. Arm around the head. Hand on the tights. He dug deep to find the strength, and somehow, he dropped back and super-plexed Orton off the top. The thud of their backs hitting the mat even made Dean cringe. Pain radiated up his spine, and he lay there taking shallow breaths, hoping to alleviate some of it.

"Holy shit! Holy shit!"

Dean dragged his broken body to where Randy lay stretched out. It took forever and a day, but he managed to get one arm over Randy's chest, covering him.

The ref hit the mat. "One... two... th—"

Randy lifted his shoulder.

A collective "no" resonated from the crowd.

Dean banged his head against the mat. He was ready to end this match. Staggering to his feet, Dean stared at Randy as he also struggled to stand. He flexed his fingers, itching to drop Orton like a sack of hot potatoes.

Randy shook his head clear of the cobwebs. He turned around and faced Dean.

Dean delivered a kick to the stomach, doubling the guy over, and hooked Randy's arms for Dirty Deeds.

Randy, however, reversed, somehow able to pop Dean in the face with a forearm.

Dean fell back against the rope, but held on, prepared to come back and hit Randy with his signature rebound clothesline. He gave his war cry as he came for Orton, full force.

Randy waited until Dean was close enough before he stunned him with an RKO outta nowhere.

And it was lights out for Dean.

* * *

Dean limped into the locker room, holding his ribs, stopping every few minutes to stretch out his back. Everything hurt. But nothing hurt as much as his bruised ego at losing to Randy Fucking Orton tonight.

Roman and Seth were the first to greet him. Their grim faces were _exactly_ what he felt like right now.

"Aw man," Seth said. "You almost had him. Can't believe how close you actually came to becoming Intercontinental champion."

"Come here." Roman pulled him into a tight, but reassuring hug.

Dean winced at the flare of pain, but he didn't dare pull away. He wrapped his free arm around Roman's waist and breathed him in. His best friend was freshly showered after competing in his own match earlier. He smelled like soap and Old Spice, Dean's favorite, but hell if he could appreciate it when all he could think about was what _almost_ happened out there in that ring.

"That was a hell of a match you and Randy put on," Roman said. "You got him next time. For sure."

Dean nodded but didn't say anything. Not because he was upset, because hey—you can't always win them all. You live to fight another day, and all that. Nah, he didn't want his brothers finding out where he was physically hurting the most. In his current state, it would be too obvious. Dean patted them both on the shoulder and headed for his bag.

Roman stopped him with a hand on his arm. He was frowning. "Everything okay? You look a little flustered."

"I'm good. Need to shower." Dean wanted to curse at how much deeper his voice was. He prayed like hell Seth and Roman attributed it to the pain he was in.

"Okay. We'll be waiting out back for you."

Dean frowned. "We going somewhere?"

Seth gave him a droll stare. "Did you forget we were celebrating New Year's tonight after the show?"

Dean's mouth widened as he remembered having this conversation with his boys some time back. They hadn't gotten to officially celebrate New Year's together on the day of, so they'd decided to do something on the following Monday after Raw. "I remember now."

"Good. So go shower up and don't keep us waiting. Sasha's coming with us."

The two of them left Dean alone. With a sigh, and a painful grunt, Dean retrieved his gym bag and headed for the showers. His cock ached with each step, so tightly pressed against the confines of his jeans.

He couldn't believe how worked up tonight's match had gotten him.

The shower room was nearly empty when Dean got there. Wet towels and a few left-behind toiletries lingered. Everyone who'd had matches tonight had cleaned up and gotten ghost. All of the stalls were available, except for the very last one at the end. Behind the burgundy curtain, steam rose all the way up to the ceiling.

His match with Randy had been the last one of the night, which meant it was highly likely he knew who was behind curtain number one right now.

Dean stalked over. The heat from behind the thick curtain blasted him, almost begging him to take off his clothes now. Dean leaned against the wall. "Randy."

There wasn't an answer at first. Just the sound of the rushing water hitting the tile. Dean frowned, wondering if he'd made a mistake. Even though it was late, anyone could still be here, using the facility.

The water turned off, and the curtain was drawn back, revealing a very naked Orton, dripping wet. But that's not where Dean's gaze went to. Standing out, huge and proud as a peacock, was Randy's dick. He'd known Randy was packing a big one from that one time in the guy's hotel. But Jesus...

Dean's own cock reacted to the sight, and he groaned in agony. He needed to hurry and release this thing before he got blue balls.

"You needed something?" Randy stared into his face, sporting a lecherous smile. The bastard knew _exactly_ what he needed.

Dean reached for his belt buckle.

Any of the male Superstars could walk right in here and see them, but Dean wasn't even thinking about that. The belt didn't make a sound as it hit the floor.

Randy licked his lips as he watched him, and somehow, turned Dean on even more. He'd never thought about something as common as taking off his clothes as erotic. But with Randy's penetrating gaze on his body, he suddenly felt like an exhibitionist.

Dean kicked off his boots and socks. He didn't care where they landed. He peeled off his jeans with a sigh of relief. The pressure on his cock was gone, but the need was still there. His shirt was all ripped to hell anyway, so Dean didn't care about tearing it off, revealing more of his sweaty chest and abs for Randy's viewing pleasure.

All that was left were his briefs.

"Want me to give you a hand?"

Randy loomed in front of him, close enough for his massive-size prick to prod Dean's lower stomach. Hooking his fingers in the waistband, Randy slowly, painfully, slid them down Dean's thighs. He went with the motion, his gaze still on Dean's face even as he came eye-level with his cock.

Dean moaned at the sight of him kneeling in front of him, his parted lips blowing cool air across the tip. "Fuck."

Randy chuckled. "We'll get to that, don't worry. Think you're ready for this?"

Dean frowned. Even now, when they were both hard and horny, the bastard couldn't resist provoking him. "Stand up for a sec."

Randy stood up.

The moment he did, Dean hooked his arm behind his back and shoved him into the stall, pressing him face-first into the tiled wall.

A deep groan escaped Randy as Dean used his own body to hold him in place. Dean couldn't tell whether it was pain or lust. Probably a little of both.

"The real question, Randy, is are you ready for _me?_ " Dean leaned in closer, inhaling the tropical scent of Randy's damp skin. It smelled so good, he dug his teeth into the thick shoulder muscle hard enough to leave a perfect imprint. His cock lengthened at the hiss that came out of Randy's mouth. "Nothing in this entire world gets me off as much as pain does. See, I like it when it hurts a little—on both sides. And I've been told..." Dean gripped Randy's balls.

"Hey, easy..."

"I've been told that I'm pretty good at dishing out pain. Even outside of the ring." Dean gave a breathy laugh as Randy squirmed in his hand. Yeah, he wanted Dean to loosen his grip, but he was enjoying it too, if the way he grinded his firm ass into Dean's hard-on was any indication.

Dean ached to fuck him. It was gonna be damned impossible to keep from coming the instant he was inside him, but he could do it. Endurance was his middle name.

He moved his hand from Randy's testicles to his shaft. This time his touch was a little gentler, meant to arouse Randy into compliance. He stroked him and thrust two spit-lubed fingers into his ass. They didn't have any actual lube, so he had to prepare him best he could. There would be some pain, but he knew Randy could handle it.

Randy gave a low groan, almost a growl.

"Holy hell, you're tight. It's been a while for you, too, right?"

"I pretty much told you that, remember?"

Dean remembered. That offer Randy had made back in a park in El Paso what seemed like ages ago. Dean had been so goddamned sure at the time he and Randy would never be a thing, but here they were.

Randy had called it "fate" back then.

Dean pressed his lips to Randy's back, trailing the sexy ass tribal tattoo while he worked on loosening him up. There was no going back from this moment.

"If we're gonna do it, we need to do it now. Anyone could barge in here."

Dean grinned. "Isn't that part of the beauty of it? The thrill of being caught?"

"And the ensuing awkward conversation. Yeah, that's such a turn-on."

Dean rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in Randy's tone. "You're lucky I'm horny right now."

Randy glanced over his shoulder. "For me this time?"

Dean froze as he met his serious gaze. Even Randy was aware that during most of their intimate moments, he'd either been thinking about Roman, or spurred on by him. Dean wanted to apologize to Randy for some reason, but he couldn't make the words come out.

He was fucking pathetic sometimes, but not tonight. Tonight, Roman wasn't gonna get in the way of this.

Instead of speaking, Dean removed his fingers and replaced it with his hard, throbbing cock.

"Fuck," they both cried out simultaneously.

Dean stilled himself, though all he really wanted was to pound Randy's ass raw. The pressure on his dick was immense, and almost completely foreign. God, it'd been so long...

Randy pressed his face against the tile and laughed. "Oh yeah, that's the spirit, Ambrose."

Dean's jaw tensed. "Shut up." He wrapped an arm around Randy's throat, cutting off his laugh and holding his slick body in place.

He fucked him.

They sounded like animals, grunting and groaning and swearing, so unnervingly loud echoing off the shower walls. But it was only a blip of concern on Dean's radar. He was in heaven as he shoved his prick in and out of Orton's hot body. The sound of their skin slapping hard together, the musk of their sex, the feel of pinning all that sinewy muscle against the wall, they were all just conduits to get him here.

And damned if Dean didn't still have it.

"Like riding a bicycle," he said between thrusts.

"What?" Randy panted.

Dean dragged his tongue down Randy's spine, mopping up droplets of water from his sweet-and-salty skin.

Randy shuddered as Dean pulled out enough to spit what was in his mouth onto his dick. He slid back in much easier this time.

"Oh f—god, yes, that's it."

"That's it?" Dean reached for Randy's cock. The guy was pulsing hot like a radioactive weapon in his hand. "Must be since you're smearing shit all over the wall." He pushed his finger into the pre-cum covered tip of Randy's erection, eliciting a sharp cry from the man.

"God...damn, Dean. I'm gonna—"

"Hold on, I'm close too." He drove into Randy's body with all the finesse of a battering ram. His vision was already compromised from the pleasure of it.

"Shit, Dean." Randy growled like a wild animal as he came, his contracting sphincter tightening and locking down on Dean like a vice grip.

Dean tried to push through it, but it was a little bit painful and a whole lot of pleasure, and he couldn't take it anymore. His balls tightened a second before he came with a guttural cry, shooting hot jizz deep into Randy's sweet ass.

Randy slumped against the wall, and Dean against him, both of them panting from exertion and leftover adrenaline with no outlet. A slow smile spread across Dean's face as _his_ semen dripped out of Randy and down his inner thighs.

Holy shit, he'd just fucked Randy Orton.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: _Still_ no internet, but I'm hoping to change that in a week or two. So updates are still slow... Thank you all for your patience with me, and I do hope you enjoy this latest installment! **

**Chapter 6**

They didn't have many options for celebrating once they finished the show, and Dean was sick of the nightclubs.

So they'd found a place called Diamond Billiard's.

The interior was warm and ambient when they stepped in, and smelled like home and BBQ sauce. The sound of cue sticks smacking pool balls was inviting. A house band was playing some kind of grunge-New Age-ish number that Dean could dig with a few more beers in him.

Roman led the way to a booth smack dab in the middle of all the action.

The four of them instantly paired up and sat down like couples on a double date: Dean and Ro. Seth and Sasha.

"I hope Diamond's is ready for me, because I am starving," Seth punctuated as he glossed over the menu.

Sasha pulled out her cell phone. "Hold up, let me get a pic for Instagram." She pressed her cheek against Seth's and gave a big smile. "Caption: chilling with my boo."

"Oh, so I'm your boo now?"

Sasha flicked his chin. "You know you're my boo."

Dean would say something about their PDA, but he couldn't peel his eyes off the monitor. Some old guy who touted himself as a professional billiards' player made a shot. But that wasn't what Dean's mind was focusing on.

Holy shit, he'd just fucked Randy Orton.

He could still feel the Viper beneath him, all taut muscles and smooth skin. And even though he'd showered after their encounter, he swore he could still smell Randy's scent clinging to him.

It'd been good. So much so he'd almost been tempted to go another round, but they'd already taken a gamble doing it there in the first place.

Strange thing was, after that incredible sex session, Randy had pulled Dean against him, attempting a postcoital kiss, but for some reason Dean had pushed him away. The confusion on Randy's face had mirrored his own, actually, because he was confused as fuck by his own actions. He'd been feeling Randy. Right?

Trying to play it off best he could, Dean had lied about hearing footsteps outside the door and headed into his own separate shower to clean up. Randy had been gone by the time he got out.

"Dean."

Dean glanced up at the sound of Roman's voice beside his ear. His best friend's face was concerned. "What's up?"

"I asked if you were ready to order."

Dean looked around at the curious expressions on Seth's and Sasha's faces, and the patient one on their waiter's. "Oh, shit, sorry."

Seth rolled his eyes. "Where's your head?"

"Up my ass, apparently," Dean deadpanned. He scrolled through the menu.

"We all got a round of beers," Roman explained. "Seth and Sasha are getting the loaded nachos for an appetizer. Wanna share some hot wings with me?"

Dean bit his lip, stifling the urge to be the guy to make the "date" joke. He nodded.

The waiter left them alone once he got their orders.

Sasha's pretty dark eyes scanned the room. "You know I've never played pool before." She gave Seth a knowing smirk.

Seth looked incredulous. "Never? Get outta here."

"Nope." She stood up, then. "Why don't you come and show me before our food gets here?"

"Well we can't have that, now can we? Not if you're gonna be my girl, at least. My girl's gotta be awesome at pool." Seth took her proffered hand, throwing them a lascivious grin as he let her lead him to an empty table.

Roman chuckled. "That guy is a mess."

Dean nodded, though he'd missed half of the conversation. He raked a hand through his hair, fidgeted with his fingers, and tapped his foot against the floor like he was impatient.

"Is everything good with you?"

Dean abruptly turned to meet Roman's concerned gaze. "What's that?"

"You seem like you're out of it, dude. You okay?"

Dean nodded, waving a dismissive hand. "Everything's good, brother." Everything was so not good. What the hell had he done?

"All right, I won't pry. But you know you can talk to me."

"Yeah, man. I'm good."

Dean directed his gaze to the band, to the blonde woman waving around Caracas and singing backup in a husky voice. She was tall and good-looking. Maybe a little overweight and wearing too much makeup, but she looked like the fun type. Dean's type. At least before his thing with Roman, and his even bigger thing with Randy less than an hour ago.

He couldn't even look at a woman the same way right now.

"Is that my shirt?"

Dean snapped out of his thoughts once more to find Roman frowning at him. Glancing down at his own upper torso, Dean stared at the black button-down he'd "borrowed" for his date with Randy. The shirt he'd forgot to put back.

Shit.

"Oh yeah. I forgot to mention I'd borrowed it the other day. Wanted to look good when me and Kev hit the town."

"You mean Solomon?"

"Yeah. Isn't that what I said?"

Roman shook his head, his long ponytail swaying. "You said Kev."

Double shit. Dean scrubbed at his face. What the hell was wrong with his brain tonight?

"Dean, what's going on?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter appeared with their beers and appetizers. "You ready for anything else?"

Roman's hard gaze never wavered from Dean's face. "Give us a few minutes."

Dean averted his gaze—glancing at the blonde, at Seth pressed up behind Sasha while he taught her how to use the stick correctly. Dean's chest pounded, afraid that Roman would somehow know what he'd been doing if he looked at him. "Nothing's going on, Ro. Drop it."

"You've been acting weird since you got in the car, Dean. Or don't you think I notice stuff like that?"

Dean's shoulders tensed. "I know you do."

"Did you lie to me about wanting to spend time with Solomon?"

Dean released a soft sigh. "You don't want the answer to that question."

Silence.

Only the sound of Dean's blood rushing through his ears. He snatched up his bottle and brought it to his lips, swallowing most of the cold, bitter brew in one go. The wings were piping hot and mouthwatering, so Dean grabbed one and ate it. He needed to keep his hands and mouth busy.

Meanwhile, Roman just sat there, unmoving, unblinking, staring at him like he was a fucking stranger.

A pang welled deep inside Dean's chest, even though he knew he deserved it. He was a bastard for lying to Roman. But how the hell he could tell him about this, he didn't know. "Don't look at me like that," Dean mumbled behind bits of spicy chicken.

His phone pinged. A text message.

"Who's that?" Roman asked, his voice slightly deeper than normal.

Dean arched a brow. "I don't know."

"You gonna check it?"

"No."

Roman scoffed. "What if it's your sister with another emergency?"

"She can wait."

"Dean, be reasonable—"

"What the hell, Ro?"

With a sigh, Roman stood.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.

"Restroom." He walked off without another word.

Left alone, Dean face-palmed himself and tugged hard on his hair in frustration. The tension was weird, even without Roman's presence. He wanted so badly to talk to his best friend. To get his advice. But he couldn't. He wanted to at least apologize for lying to him, but that would mean he'd have to tell him the truth of what he'd actually been doing that night.

"You are such a cheater."

Dean straightened as Sasha and Seth approached. They sat back down and instantly went for the platter of loaded nachos.

Seth shoved a handful into his mouth. "Where's Ro?"

"Ew, babe." Sasha put a delicate hand over his lips. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

"He went to take a piss."

Sasha frowned. "Y'all are so crude. Legit."

Forcing a smile, Dean reached for another wing and made quick work of it.

They talked about nothing much for several minutes. Several painful minutes of Dean forcing himself to concentrate instead of getting lost in his thoughts. He should have just gone back to the hotel instead.

Roman returned to the table and sat down, then. He looked the same, too, not like he was upset.

When the waiter returned, Dean and Roman ordered two steak burgers, while Seth ordered a personal Hawaiian pizza, and Sasha asked for grilled cheese and chili.

Roman leaned in close. "I need to talk to you later."

Fuck that. Dean's nerves were already frayed. He'd be a wreck if he had to wait that long. "We can talk right now. Let's get an empty pool table." He didn't wait for Roman's protest. Dean got up and went off to the billiards' area of the bar. Lot of the tables had filled up since then. The various TV monitors could barely be heard over the live music and pool balls smacking into one another. Dean spotted an empty one and went to claim it. He didn't look back. He was sure Roman was following him.

Sure enough, Roman pulled up beside him once they reached the table.

It was in the perfect position too. A quiet corner under a dim light.

Roman handed him a cue stick. "Let's play a round."

"All right." Dean removed the ball holder from the green felt table. "Who goes first?"

"I'll go. I'll also talk."

"Shoot."

Roman didn't speak as he lined up his stick with the white ball. Several moments passed before he finally struck, sending the ball barreling into the others, causing them to scatter. Roman leaned his hip against the table, staring at him. "Why'd you lie to me about going out with Solomon?"

"Straight for the jugular, then." Dean didn't meet his friend's eyes as he lined up his stick with the white billiard, aiming for the 8 ball. He let several long seconds pass before he made the shot, sinking two others instead. How to explain to Roman without giving away anything? With a nervous sigh, Dean moved across the table so he could make another shot.

Roman blocked his way.

"I kinda need this spot, dude."

But Roman refused to budge.

Dean stared into that molten gray gaze, his mouth dry, the words stuck in the back of his throat.

"Why are you stalling, Dean? Look, if you went to meet someone, that's okay, man. I'm not gonna be mad because you really went to get laid."

"It's not like that—"

Roman arched a brow at him, shutting him up.

Dean licked his dry lips. "I met someone."

"Really?"

Dean blinked at him. Roman's voice sounded a little breathy. "Yeah. That night I was supposed to be meeting with fucking Solomon, I was meeting with someone else."

Roman sat down on the table, staring at Dean as if he'd sprouted another head. His grip on the stick tightened, while another hand shakily smoothed down his hair.

Dean frowned. He'd never seen Roman so fidgety before.

Roman cleared his throat before saying, "So why'd you lie to me about it?"

"I didn't think you'd approve of this person."

"Oh. Someone I know?"

Dean pressed his lips together. He really didn't want to get into that with the guy. Chances were, if he opened his big mouth even a little, he'd give away some clue as to who it was.

"Dean—"

"Hey guys," Seth shouted from across the room, "food's here."

Dean exhaled a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His shoulders sagged and all the tension melted out of him.

Roman gave him a small smile. "Here we are, supposed to be having a good time, and I'm ruining it with this interrogation."

Dean shook his head. "It's okay, Ro. You're worried. You called me out on my bullshit, and I needed that. I'm sorry I lied to you."

Roman kept smiling, but his eyes... his smile didn't reach them. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say Roman's eyes looked sad. "So you finally found someone, huh? I'm happy for you, Dean."

"Um, thanks, Ro. Appreciate it." He didn't have the guts to tell Roman that it'd only been a one-night stand kind of thing and that it'd never, ever happen again.

"You just better make sure they treat you right, or else..."

Dean forced a laugh at that. "You got nothing to worry about."

"Good." Roman reached a hand to touch his shoulder.

Dean sucked in a breath, bracing himself for the intimate contact.

"Dean! Roman! Come on," Seth shouted.

As Roman dropped his hand like heavy lead, Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, imagining them wrapped around Seth's neck. "If I didn't love that little bastard so much, I would've killed him by now."

Roman chuckled. "We should be getting back. There's nothing more frustrating than cold steak burger."

Before Dean could respond, Roman put away his stick and headed back for the table. Dean watched him leave, his chest knotted. He tossed his stick onto the felt, not bothering to put anything the way it was. "Nice talking to you too."


End file.
